the coming and going
A deep-yellow dove more
brilliant than gold came to
me to die. I said see I’m not
a doctor and she said I know
but you look at the world and
into your heart at the same time.
So I spent her last day listening
to her sing of this world, what
she called the Suchness. I held
her in my fragile hands and felt
the shape of death. I held her to
the very end and then a little more.
and i held my breath.
stunning and melancholy.
Rain, it means something when people not only read but then comment. Thank you for taking that time.
You are seeing the ball really well just now, you know.
NAMASTE —
R. Benson
Thank you, Robert.
Is summer the season of your poetry? It seems to sit well with your soul. Beautiful. I am wrestling with that word Suchness. So much to ponder.
Elizabeth, there is something about summer, a freedom I feel not only in writing but life. And I love that word ‘Suchness’…
lovely.
Lea, thanks for stopping by!
How tender: “I held her to the very end and then a little more.”
These few words could fill the whole church on Sunday to overflowing.
Blessings,
Peg
holey moley, an. on a roll is right. i’ve met that yellow bird a time or two myself and her song is wondrous to the ear.
not sure where that ‘an’ came from. x it out, please. supposed to be ‘man,’ I believe. . .